


Glass Houses

by jdphoenix



Series: drabble collections [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of huntingbird prompt fics imported from my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. loves me / loves me not

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (and my ask box) [here](ilosttrackofthings.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for huntingbird week day 1: flowers.
> 
> (And, since I guess it wasn't clear, this takes place just after the divorce.)

Bobbi really wants to kill someone. She’s not a kill-for-the-sake-of-killing sort of person, but she recognizes that, at this point in her life, doing serious damage to another living person will make her feel a hell of a lot better. Which is probably why Coulson has given her a simple tail job instead of anything more likely to spiral into violence.

It’s nice of him, really, most people are keeping their distance and calling it giving her space. She doesn’t need space. She’s got  _plenty_  of space.  _Too much_  space. What she needs is work and Coulson at least is willing to give it to her. (She thinks Clint probably called in a favor or two to get her even that, and doesn’t that just sting like a mother?)

The middle-aged father of two she’s tailing pauses his walk through the park for a bite at a hot dog vendor’s cart. He’s already looking squirrelly, so she lets her gaze wander up into the trees. It’s the depths of fall and everything’s a rainbow of color. All she can think about is how long this winter’s gonna be. She’d jump hemispheres, but someone else already did and she doesn’t want to look like she’s chasing.

If the hot dog is the man’s attempt at looking natural in this setting, he’s failing miserably. He’s not the only businessman out today eating one, but he’s the only one clutching his briefcase to his chest like a life preserver. 

He settles - or tries to - onto a bench. Bobbi wanders a few paces past him and to the opposite side of the path where a mound of daisies is bursting up. She grabs one and takes a seat herself, on a bench already occupied by an elderly woman. The mark is glancing up and down the path for whoever’s supposed to meet him. He’s still completely oblivious to Bobbi.

“Thinking of someone special?” the elderly woman asks. Her voice is brittle but her whole face lights up with a curious smile. She nods to the flower in Bobbi’s hand. Turns out, she’s been plucking petals absently.

“Oh, I-” She pushes her immediate thought away resolutely. She doesn’t  _have_  anyone special. She took care of that problem eight days ago. (Eight days, six hours. But who’s counting?) “Yeah,” she lies and pulls another petal.

“I’m sure he likes you too. How could he not? Pretty young woman like you.”

Bobbi lies for a living, as the nobody in question likes to remind her, and it’s always come easy to her. But lying to him or even about him has always been near impossible. Hell, the only time she ever broke her own cover was when they first met. So it’s not surprising that her smile comes off a little … not smiley.

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear.” The woman lays a hand on her arm. “It’ll all turn out right in the end.”

All Bobbi can think is that it  _is_  the end - they reached that point eight days, six hours ago - and it turned out anything but “right.” She thinks all of that - and that there’s an assassin Bobbi’s met before headed straight for her mark. This day just got a whole lot better.

She tosses the flower aside and moves to intercept. 

When Coulson arrives with a whole squadron of SHIELD suits in tow, Bobbi’s got the mark handcuffed to the bench next to her and her feet propped up on the assassin’s very broken spine. 

“Feeling better?” Coulson asks mildly as agents set to work around him like flies descending on a meal.

“Loads.” 

He watches his men load the assassin onto a gurney and wheel him away. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that guy’s back looked like Hunter’s face by the time you were done.”

Bobbi twitches but doesn’t let her pleased smile fall one bit. Coulson’s trying to be nice, to joke about her pain so it’s less pain _ful_  - also she just really wants to hold onto the victory.

“What’s with the flowers?” he asks.

She plucks the final petal before dropping the stem to the ground with all the others she’s torn up while waiting.

“Nothing,” she says nonchalantly and stands to join his parade back to HQ. If he notices her pocketing the petal, he doesn’t mention it.


	2. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for day 2 of huntingbird week: ring.

“Where  _are_  you?” Bobbi called. She knew full well he was just in the next room - she’d seen him go and could hear him besides, but he wasn’t  _here_ , which was kind of a problem at the moment. The only answer she got was a muffled … something. 

She considered going in search of him but he’d been very insistent that she not leave the bed. At all. For at least the next two days. 

Impossible as that was going to be, she appreciated the sentiment and was resolved to at least try. While he was conscious anyway.

Lance, still as naked as he’d been almost since they walked through the hotel room door, finally came through the doorway leading to the kitchenette. The two water bottles he’d promised were dangling from his fingers because his arms were full of bags of unhealthy snack food. A bag of chips that she guessed would’ve upset the tenuous balance in his arms was dangling between his teeth. 

She laughed. Loudly. He only grinned and made another muffled request. That, coupled with the gesturing he was doing with his chin, clued her in that he wanted her to move over on the bed. Before she could, one of the phones on the nightstand let out the chorus of “I Believe I Can Fly.”

Hunter’s eyes went wide and his muffled exclamation was  _definitely_  of the angry variety. That didn’t stop Bobbi from turning over and crawling for the phone. Behind her there was the soft sound of several air-filled bags hitting the carpet, along with two water bottles. A hand clamped tight around her ankle, stopping her inches from the phone.

“I could kill you,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, and I could kill you,” he countered. “And I just might if you  _answer your bloody phone_  on our _honeymoon_.”

She twisted to give him her best _are you serious right now_  face. It was one she’d perfected since meeting him. “A: I will answer my phone whenever I please. B: That is Clint’s ring and he knows this is important, which means whatever he’s calling about has to be important. C: If you do not let go of my ankle right now, I will not be his only friend who can be called a black widow.”

Lance didn’t so much let go of her ankle as he slid his hand up her calf. And then her thigh. And then higher. He followed, crawling slowly onto the bed. She was not even a little impressed by this and was certain her face showed as much. Even if her body disagreed. A lot.

“I Believe I Can Fly” rang out again and she brought one foot up to press firmly against his chest. He went backward, right off the bed, and she slid the last few inches she needed to reach the phone. Win-win.

“You could’ve broken my neck!” Lance yelled as Bobbi answered with a, “Hey, Clint. What’s up?” 

“Why didn’t you break his neck?” Clint asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “You’re usually so good at that.”

She rolled her eyes at Clint  _and_  her husband, who was busy tossing bags and waters onto the bed. She caught a bag of cookies out of the air and nestled the phone in the crook of her shoulder to open it. Clint hadn’t bothered to wait on her answer and was yammering away in her ear. She was starting to regret picking up.

“So?” Lance asked, popping a chip into his mouth. “Is it important?” He had that damned _curious but not even a little curious because I know I’m right_ look on his face. She hated that face. Especially when he  _was_  right.

“ _Clint_ ,” Bobbi said sharply, stopping him midway through his story about what he and Natasha had for lunch. “Did you by any chance call for any particular reason?”

“Nope. Just missed the sound of your voice.”

There was no way Lance could hear the phone from the other side of the bed. Which meant his smile had to be because she’d slipped and let her expression show what she was thinking. Damn them both.

“I will kill you when I get home, Clint Barton,” she said and hung up.

“We agreed phones would be off,” Lance said as he stole a cookie from her bag.

“And what if one of our friends gets intel that someone’s going to try to kill us on our honeymoon?” she asked sweetly.

Lance frowned at her. “You’re actually hoping that happens, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said a little  _too_  sincerely.

He threw up his hands and looked to the room at large for some answer. “I married a madwoman!”

She figured there was really only one good answer for that, and knocked him back onto the mattress. “Yes,” she said as his arms curled around her, “you did. So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Enjoy it,” he said readily.

“Right answer,” she said and kissed him.


	3. The Golden Mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for huntingbird week day 3: AU/golden
> 
> Scarlet Pimpernel AU (You do not have to be familiar with The Scarlet Pimpernel to enjoy this. Just think of it as a regency AU.)

“I do hope you are comfortable, Lord Hunter,” Bakshi said from his spot beside the fire. He was lounging, utterly at ease.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter said, instantly on edge - well,  _more_  on edge - thanks to the use of his title. He really hated that thing. He glanced around the tiny cabin as he spoke. “The wind through the walls, the rats who don’t even bother to run, the ropes - it’s very homey.” He jerked to one side for emphasis. The chair jostled beneath him and the ropes holding him to it dug into his wrists.

Bakshi grinned like Hunter was nothing but a misbehaving child. “I’d rather not know what you and your lady love do at home, thank you.”

Hunter had to laugh at that. Loudly and for entirely too long. Bakshi’s smile faded. 

“I assure you,” Hunter said, “there is no  _love_  between the Lady Hunter and myself.”

“Isn’t there?”

The truth was there had been love, once. At least on his part. He’d loved her so much he’d been blind to the woman she really was. When he proposed, he had this vision of her … Rooms lit up when she entered like she was some ancient goddess forged of sunshine itself. But like all ancient deities she proved to be nothing but cold stone. Now she barely even looked at him unless he was threatening to cut off her allowance. And the worst part was, he only ever threatened to get her attention. A few minutes enduring her curses was better than that endless, icy silence.

“What do you hope to gain here?” Hunter asked, hoping to get the subject off his wife. “I’m not important to the underground. Saving me will only cost them more lives - and that’s besides all the people they won’t be able to save thanks to those losses. Or do you think they’re dumb enough to try?”

Bakshi only went on staring, that self-satisfied smirk back in place. Hunter really wished he wasn’t tied down so he could knock it away. Short of that, sitting in silence with the man just wasn’t an option, so he did what he’d always done best: talked shit.

“Or,” he said, forcing a slight laugh, “were you hoping for a ransom? You’ll be disappointed, I’m happy to tell you.” Bobbi would certainly never pay one and his manager had strict orders not to deal with HYDRA, no matter the circumstances.

“Something like that,” Bakshi said. He casually checked the time. “Actually, I’m expecting the Mockingbird to deliver herself over in exchange for you any minute.”

“You think the  _Mockingbird_  would come for  _me?_ ” It was the first good laugh Hunter’d had since waking up tied to this chair and he made damn sure to enjoy it. 

The Golden Mockingbird was the champion of the underground. The masked heroine had single-handedly saved at least half of HYDRA’s recovered prisoners. Just the sight of her namesake was enough to bolster morale among those still in captivity. Losing her would cripple them. She wouldn’t dare give herself up for him, even if he was anyone important. Which he wasn’t.

Sure, he had a title and a wife he would leave behind. His cousin Simmons would be happy to take over the first and as for the second - well, she’d be happier with him gone, he was sure. She’d be spitting mad that she had to stay in mourning colors for a year, but his absence was sure to make up for that. 

It was strange, but he hoped she’d find a second husband who she liked. It would be a shame if the world never saw that smile of hers again, even if he never would.

“Ah,” Bakshi said, “that will be her now.” Outside, wheels were moving over dirt, announcing someone’s arrival. Bakshi calmly pulled a gun from inside his jacket and aimed it at Hunter. “Don’t worry,” he added, completely misinterpreting Hunter’s solemn expression, “I’ve ordered my men to allow her to reach the cabin. It’s only fair that she see what she’s giving her life up for.”

“It’s not her,” Hunter said. He didn’t know why his throat was suddenly tight. It wasn’t her, couldn’t be.

His chair was positioned so he had a clear view of both the fireplace and the door opposite it, so he didn’t have to let Bakshi out of his sight to see the woman who entered, but the moment she did, she stole all his attention.

“ _Bobbi?_ ” he asked, his voice small and choked. She couldn’t be here. There were assassins and worse outside and the worst of them all was in here with him.

She let the creaking door swing shut behind her. His vocal cords worked soundlessly; the order - not that she’d ever obey one coming from him - to run and run far was caught in his throat. He was too terrified to do anything but stare at her and will her to be anyone else.

“I figured there was no reason to bother with masks,” she said to Bakshi. Hunter had heard plenty of cold statements from his wife over the years but this was a whole new level of icy disdain. That’s when he noticed her clothes. His perfectly polished wife who couldn’t open the curtains of her bed unless she was assured there was a suitably fashionable robe waiting to be worn until she was ensconced in her closet would  _never_  be seen in dirty, dusty  _men’s_ clothing.

“Lord Hunter,” Bakshi said happily, “I assume you have met the Golden Mockingbird.”

It was the first time since she’d entered that Bobbi’s gaze fell on him and he felt it like a touch. She was still all hard steel, but underneath it now was something else. Something that, if Hunter were in a position to be naming things, he would call desperation.

“He will be unharmed?” she asked.

“Of course. That was the arrangement and I’m a man of my word.”

Bobbi scoffed at that. Hunter might have too but he was a little preoccupied at the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m a little behind here. Are you trying to tell me that you, my  _wife_ , are the _Mockingbird_?”

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Bakshi asked, thoroughly enjoying Hunter’s discomfort.

“Let him go,” Bobbi said, not bothering to answer him. Which was par for the course typically, but under the circumstances Hunter felt he deserved  _something._

“No! No no no! You do not get to just talk around me, not this time!” He was yelling now, louder than he could ever remember yelling before. “You mean to tell me that instead of spending all my money and living in the height of comfort, you’ve been running all over creation, antagonizing murderers and walking straight into certain death?”

“It couldn’t have been  _certain_  death if I’m still standing here, now could it?” she asked. That she sounded more like her usual self was actually a little comforting. “And I still spend all your money, just on other things too.”

“Like weapons?” he demanded. Even seeing her standing here, decked out in the Mockingbird’s uniform with the Mockingbird’s weaponry at her back, he still couldn’t quite fathom the thought of his wife fighting battles.

“And travel expenses.”

“As entertaining as this display of marital bliss is,” Bakshi cut in before Hunter could form a coherent response to  _that_ , “I do think it’s time we get on with things.” He rose from his chair and set it in the center of the room. The gun never wavered in its aim at Hunter’s chest. “Sit,” he ordered.

“Don’t,” Hunter said even as Bobbi did as she was told. He gritted his teeth. “Could you not listen to me  _just once?_ ” 

“If you haven’t noticed,” she said as Bakshi dropped a loop of rope over her head, “I’m saving your life.”

“I never asked you to!”

“Yes, well, excuse me for caring what happens to  _my husband_.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything!”

That shut her up. She went still like he’d physically struck her. Hunter actually felt a little guilty. But why should he? He was the one who’d been lied to! Didn’t he deserve to know what his wife was really up to?

“I knew this would happen,” she said quietly, not seeming to care that Bakshi was tugging her knots tight. “I knew if they ever found out who I was, they’d come for you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Yeah, well, good job with that,” he said just as softly, some of the fight having gone out of him.

She actually laughed. He hadn’t heard her laugh in - God, it had to be months at least. And now it would be the last time.

Bakshi cut him free and gestured to the door. “You are free to go, Lord Hunter, and - I presume - begin your search for a more manageable wife.”

Hunter rolled his shoulders and stretched the muscles in his back. “If you think I’m actually going to leave her here with  _you_ -”

“What choice do you have?” Bakshi asked curtly. “I have over three dozen men outside-”

Hunter couldn’t help the impressed look he turned Bobbi’s way. Hearing the Mockingbird warranted so many wasn’t surprising, but now that that title was attached to his wife, he couldn’t help the slight twinge of pride.

“-who will allow you safe passage only so long as you are sincere in your objective to  _go_. The moment you so much as turn back towards this cabin you will be struck dead as surely as Lot’s wife.”

Hunter slowly unfolded himself from the chair. He’d been trapped in that same position for hours and his legs protested the movement, but he refused to let it show as he stood face-to-face with Bakshi, the man who’d killed dozens in the name of HYDRA, the man who’d held him captive, the man who was going to kill his _wife_. Gun or no gun, Hunter had some very specific ideas about what he wanted to do to him.

“Actually,” Bobbi said lightly, her ease cutting cleanly through the tension in the air, “he won’t be. I came a little early, you see, and it just felt wrong to leave all those men out in the cold. So I relocated them to the nearest SHIELD facility.”

Slowly, the two men turned to stare at her, Hunter with a broad smile on his face and Bakshi with an expression of enraged horror.

“You’re lying,” Bakshi said, but his voice was shaking, as was the gun.

“Hey!” Hunter said at the same moment he twisted the gun easily from Bakshi’s numb grip. “I’m the only one who gets to call my wife a liar.” He proceeded to hit Bakshi across the head with the gun. The man crumpled to the floor without another word.

Hunter ran to Bobbi’s side and began tugging at the knots.

“There is a knife,” she said mildly.

“I cannot  _believe_  you,” he muttered to himself, ignoring her. “The  _Mockingbird_.”

“I did have a good reason, you have to admit.”

“Is your name even really Bobbi? Are we even really married? What is real? I don’t know!”

He finally got the knot undone and pulled the whole mess of ropes straight over her head. She remained sitting, looking up at him with wide eyes. She’d never waited on his judgment before. Whenever they fought she would leave with a laugh or a scathing remark. There was never this silence.

He didn’t like it.

“You better have really gotten rid of those HYDRA agents,” he said as he pulled her to her feet, “because I’m too angry to fight right now.”

He dug his fingers into her hair at the base of her skull and dragged her to him for a kiss, which she returned readily, clinging to him and running her hands over every inch of him. It occurred to him she might have been just as worried about him as he was about her.

They’d fight about this later, that much was certain, but he’d come to realize that he’d been lying to Bakshi earlier. Whatever her own feelings - which he was feeling a lot more positive about in light of recent events - he had never once stopped loving her.


	4. "you ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Who wouldn’t be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!"
> 
> Takes place the morning after 2x05 “A Hen in the Wolf House” (aka the one where Bobbi and Simmons break out of HYDRA).

When Lance wakes up, he knows he didn’t dream it. It’s a sixth sense. A gift bestowed upon him by a higher power for his own self-preservation. The one that allows him to sense when  _she_  is near.

Also the fact that he can hear her laughing in the hall. He stays in bed for five more minutes before getting up. Not because he’s  _scared_. He isn’t afraid of Bobbi Morse. No, he just doesn’t want a fight first thing in the morning.

So he takes his time getting dressed and washing up and hopes that by the time he gets to the kitchens, she’ll be down in the labs playing mad scientist with that Simmons girl.

The higher power? The one who gave him the gift? Either that guy is a dick, or he’s got an enemy who likes watching Lance squirm, because Bobbi’s still eating breakfast when he gets there.

“Morning,” Skye says cheerfully because of  _course_  she’s getting all buddy-buddy with Bobbi. It’s her and Simmons and Bobbi and it’s sure to be all  _girl-power rah rah rah_  from here on out. Just thinking about it has Lance considering murdering himself with the spoon he's gotten out for his breakfast.

He grunts out a response and shuffles towards the pantry. Bobbi’s telling the girls about the time she nearly blew up the United States Congress, which she tells as the time she saved Congress from being blown up. Lance was there. It’s the first one.

He has every intention of pouring himself a nice, cold bowl of Lucky Charms and heading into the lounge in hopes the guys are hitting the video games early - he could really use the testosterone right now - but finds he can’t do that because his box of Lucky Charms is gone. He searches behind the Shredded Wheat, next to the maple syrup, even in the fridge. But he knows before he looks that it’s in the trash. Empty.

He zeroes in on Bobbi and the spoon held halfway to her mouth. The one with delicious bits of marshmallow on it.

“What the  _bloody hell_  do you think you’re doing?” he demands, stomping across the room to loom over her. That, in retrospect, will be the moment he lost all sense of self-preservation.

She leans back, but not in a way that implies she’s intimidated. No, she’s just sizing him up. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Who wouldn’t be worked up? You ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years!”

“I think we’ll just be going,” Simmons says quietly. She and Skye are off like a shot.

Once they’re gone, Bobbi rests her hands on the table to push herself to her feet. “What.”

“You heard me. You ate all my cereal and faked your death.” He’s beginning to think this might have been a bad idea. He hasn’t even eaten. He’s rubbish in a fight when he’s hungry.

“And that’s the order you want to address those topics in? Seriously?”

He considers. “Yes.”

She rolls her eyes and lets the motion carry her back down to her seat. “I ate your cereal because it was the only good kind.”

“Right?” he asks before he can stop himself and sits down in Simmons’ vacated seat. He can't believe what these SHIELD brats consider food.

“I thought you’d already eaten, okay? It’s not like you to sleep in.”

He remembers staying in bed late to avoid her and decides not to mention it.

“As for the faking my death thing-” Her mouth is doing that thing it does when she’s nervous. He really likes when it does that thing. “-I thought we agreed it was a good idea. We take a little time away from each other. A trial separation.”

“That was supposed to last  _three weeks._  Not three  _years_. I thought you were actually dead!”

She rolls her head to the side to give him an incredulous look. “You knew I wasn’t dead.”

“Okay, fine, but you see my point! Three years, Bob. I started calling you my ex-wife because I wasn’t sure what we even were.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” She takes a bite of cereal and even the sugary morsels can't chase away her frown. He’s not sure if he’s happy because she’s angry or if he’s angry because how dare she be mad. God, it’s like being married to her again. Or still. 

“You’re infuriating,” he says. He’s still holding the spoon he grabbed earlier and uses it to take a bite of what’s left of  _his_  cereal.

She stares, torn between pissed off and fondly pissed off. So at least they’re in the same boat.

“So are you,” she says finally. 

Together, they finish the bowl. For being the first thing they’ve shared in three years, it’s not a bad start.


	5. "I’m sorry that I accidentally kissed you passionately."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately."

"I’m sorry I volunteered you to go undercover without asking first."

"I’m sorry I called you ‘honeybun’ in front of the assassin-neighbors."

"I’m sorry I tried to kill you with dinner."

"I’m sorry I got way too into the cover and kissed you passionately."

"I’m sorry I ripped your shirt off."

"I’m sorry I violated our agreement about staying to our own sides of the bed."

"I’m sorry I bit you on your 'honeybun.'"

"I’m sorry I let this get out of hand."

"I’m sorry I’m gonna do all of it again."

"…I’m not."


	6. "The skirt is short on purpose."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The skirt is short on purpose."

“What the hell is that?”

“A dress,” Lance says. He thought it was obvious. Of course, after spending three hours shopping for the damn thing (as punishment from Coulson for that tiny fire he started in the lab), he understands Bobbi’s confusion. He didn’t even  _understand_  some of the dresses he saw out there. But this one - this one at least looks like it’s meant to hang on a human body. 

“You expect Simmons to wear  _this?_ ” Bobbi asks.

“Well, yeah.” The insult hidden in the statement hits him a second too late. “Hey! I happen to have great taste in women’s clothes!”

“Lingerie you bought me for our anniversary doesn’t count as clothes. And Simmons can’t wear this! It’s too short! She’ll spend the whole time freaking out over how much leg she’s showing!”

“The skirt is short  _on purpose_ ,” Lance says. He even shakes it at her for emphasis. “The ambassador is notoriously handsy. A skirt like this’ll be like catnip to him.”

Bobbi laughs. “Okay, I love Simmons. I do. But there is no way she can handle  _this_  mission in  _this_ dress. Not with the handsy ambassador running around!”

Lance resents the implication that he doesn’t care about Simmons just as much as Bobbi does. Just because he didn’t personally pull her out of HYDRA doesn’t mean they aren’t friends. And,  _as her friend_ , Lance knows she can handle this.

“Simmons is a big girl. She’ll do fine. Just you wait and see.”

“Is that what the dress is about? Are you planning on  _waiting and seeing_  something?”

The accusation is so completely out of the blue that Lance can’t even process it and by the time he convinces himself that yes, Bobbi was saying exactly what he thinks she was saying, she’s already gone down the hall towards the women’s quarters and taken the dress with her.

He stomps off to his own room to get ready for the mission. Bobbi is insane if she thinks he actually wants to see that much of Simmons. She’s a cute girl, he’s not gonna lie, but that’s all he thinks of her as. A  _girl_. And Lance? Lance prefers women. Simple as that. You’d think Bobbi of all people would know as much by now. 

But since she doesn’t, it looks like they’ll be in a fight until this mission’s over. His only consolation is that the rest of the team will be just as uncomfortable as they are.

* * *

Six hours later, Lance is poised in the window of a hotel room. He’s got his ICER rifle aimed at the balcony Simmons is supposed to lure the ambassador onto. Once Lance knocks him out, she can safely search his files for information on the bioweapon the ambassador’s here to buy.

Trip is in the window next to his, keeping a wider eye out and trying to lighten the mood with sports talk.

“I’m just sayin’, we could probably convince Coulson to let us go to a minor league game if we buttered him up right first.”

“Yeah, still not into baseball, mate.” He can see the purple of the dress through the white curtains. All Simmons has to do is step through the doors.

“Are you seriously telling me you’d rather sit in the Playground, twiddling your thumbs, than go out for just one night? You don’t get bored down there?”

Lance grins. He has more to do during his downtime than twiddle his thumbs - and he plans to do quite a lot of it after he convinces Bobbi that he’s not even a little interested in Simmons. He opens his mouth to say as much to Trip (it’ll shut the guy up better than anything), but his jaw can’t seem to close around his shock. Beside him, Trip lets out a low whistle.

“I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ this, man, but- she is  _fine_. Skirt’s kinda short though, don’t you think?”

The skirt Lance carefully picked out, the one currently hanging around  _Bobbi’s_   thighs, is at least six inches shorter than it was when he last saw it. It also didn’t have a diplomat’s hand trying to reach up it before either.

Trip doesn’t seem surprised to see Bobbi down there, which means Lance is probably the only person on the team who didn’t know about the change in plans. Oh, Bobbi is so gonna pay for pulling this on him.

“The skirt is short on purpose,” Lance grinds out as he takes careful aim at the ambassador and fires.


	7. "Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle"

“Morse? You there?” May asks, her voice cool and collected despite the fire fight she was just in. Bobbi can imagine her jogging easily away from the scene, hand to her ear as she checks in on the team members all moving to rendezvous back at the Bus. 

“Fine,” Bobbi says, her own voice carefully controlled so as not to let on that she’s injured.

“Fine?!” Lance’s yell in her ear makes her wince. “What were you yelling for if you’re fine?!”

“I had a problem, I handled it. Now shut up and get moving.” 

“She’s right,” May cuts in. “Everyone get a move on if you’re not already. We meet back at the Bus in fifteen. Until then, radio silence. I don’t want HYDRA tracking us.”

Fifteen minutes. Bobbi can so make it there in fifteen minutes. She gingerly pulls her leg closer to her chest for inspection. It screams in protest and her blood rushes in her ears just from that small movement. She was really hoping the crack she thought she heard when she fell was just her imagination.

It is, without doubt, the most embarrassing injury of her professional career. She couldn’t break her leg fighting off those three HYDRA goons from a few minutes ago, oh no. She had to trip over a damn cat and fall down the stairs.

Luckily her boot has kept the leg in place. If it’s a clean enough break, she should be able to walk on it. Or limp. Whatever.

She claws at the brick wall of the building she’s taken shelter beside, using it for support as she gets her good leg under her. Her blood does that rushing thing again and her skin goes clammy, but she reminds herself that once she gets to the Bus, then she can rest. She counts to three and eases some weight onto her injured leg.

Her vision goes dark around the edges and the last thing she sees is the ground coming at her like the ocean tide.

* * *

The pain in her leg wakes her up, but she’s not on the ground like she expected. She’s curled in strong, warm arms, the gentle cadance of Lance’s walk jarring her leg slightly with every step.

“Put me down,” she says.

“Not a chance.”

She shifts in his hold so that she can look at him instead of leaning into his shoulder like some lovesick waif. “What’d you do? Totally ignore May’s orders and rush over to make sure I was okay? I was  _fine_.”

“You were passed out in an alley. There is no universe where that can be considered ‘fine.’”

“I was handling it. I had fifteen minutes to get to the Bus. That’s five to get back on my feet and ten to actually get there.”

He laughs and she pinches at the back of his neck in retaliation.

“I would’ve made it! Seriously, you turn around right now and put me back where you found me. I bet I can still make it in time.”

“Yeah, not unless you developed superpowers while you were out.” His mouth quirks up in that completely infuriating way. “I didn’t disobey orders, Bob. May  _let_  me go when you didn’t show up. It’s been half an hour since you said you were ‘fine.’”

Oh. Well, that aside, she still has her pride.

“Please put me down,” she says. “It’s just a sprained ankle.”

“Even if I believed you - and, for the record, I don’t - that’s not gonna happen.”

Her leg still hurts and her stomach’s started to turn from the pain, so she keeps her mouth shut. She realizes how much of a mistake that is when Lance’s cheeky smile turns to a grimace and he picks up his pace. She actually grips his shoulders to keep her seat.

“Seriously, Bob,” he says, “it’s just the leg, right?”

“ _Yes_.” But that doesn’t slow him down.

When they make the Bus, Simmons confirms that it  _is_  just the leg. Her ankle’s broken and she’s given strict orders not to try standing on it again “like a lunatic.” Bobbi tries to defend herself, only for Lance - who is still hovering around the edges of the lab - to cut in.

“Just because Clint claims he did it once-”

“He did!” To Simmons, Bobbi explains, “Clint Barton once broke his leg mid-mission and managed to walk a mile on it to make his extraction on time.”

“Lies,” Lance says.

“Truth!”

Lance scoffs. Simmons doesn’t offer an opinion. She just repeats her orders and leaves to “give them their space.”

Bobbi and Lance spend a full minute scowling at each other before she huffs and begins lowering her legs off the side of the lab table.

“Whoa whoa whoa! What are you doing?” Lance comes around the table and grips the knee of her uninjured leg firmly, holding her in place before she can touch the floor.

“Going upstairs so I can get some sleep before we land.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Lance,” she says, too exhausted to sound stern, “I’m tired and I’m in pain and all I want to do is sleep. So could you please just-” She gestures for him to move.

He frowns at her for a few seconds before finally doing as she asked.

“Thank-” The words die on her tongue as he catches her up in his arms again. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you.”

“I can walk.”

“Not according to Simmons.” He’s actually carrying her through the lab doors and towards the elevator.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“I can still kill you, even with the ankle.”

“I know.” He’s just so damn  _pleasant_  about it. What is his problem?

“So what? You’re just gonna be my personal slave boy until Simmons says I can walk again?”

“Looks like it.”

She did not actually mean that seriously. “You can’t carry me everywhere!” That comes out a little louder than she’d intended. And of course they’ve just reached the lounge when she says it so everyone hears. 

They get a couple awws and a few snickers, but Lance doesn’t pay anyone any mind. He just keeps going until they reach the closest bunk. He lays her gently on the bed and turns back to the door to close them inside.

“You’re just a giant pain in the ass, you know that?” she asks.

He whirls on her, all his quiet placidity gone. “ _I’m_  a giant pain in the ass?” He’s keeping his voice low enough that he won’t be overheard but he might as well be yelling. “What about you? Trying so hard to prove you’re good enough, you’re gonna get yourself killed?”

He looms over her, anger making him monstrous. And then all at once it fades away, leaving him limp. He falls to his knees next to the bed and grabs her hand off the blanket.

“Don’t  _scare_ me like that,” he pleads softly and drops a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this and wonders for the first time what she would’ve felt if she’d found him lying unconscious in an alley. She would’ve thought he was dead. Just the distant thought of it leaves her feeling cold.

“I won’t,” she says and really intends on keeping the promise.

For once he doesn’t question her sincerity. He shifts to sit properly on the floor and leans his head against the mattress. She curls on her side, facing him.

He doesn’t let go of her hand until after the Bus lands.


	8. "I’m going to need you to put on some underwear"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."
> 
> Takes place during the hypothetical fallout of whatever Bobbi and Mack are up to.

It’s a month since the Playground was compromised and Lance is still living out of motel rooms. He’s still with SHIELD, but he’s not … not  _with_  SHIELD. His excuse is that it’s easier, with the jobs he’s currently running for Coulson, to live like he’s still in his old mercenary days. The truth is that it makes the wallowing a hell of a lot easier if there’s nobody around to notice how many beers he puts away.

He’s only got a six-pack tonight, picked up from the liquor store across the street - and Lance is gonna have to move soon because the guy behind the counter made some comment about putting his preferred brand aside so it’s sure to be in stock. That is just the sort of noticing he's is trying to avoid here.

He stumbles into the door - he’s still cold sober, but he did take a nasty hit to his ankle this afternoon - and it falls open even though the key is still in his pocket.  _Shit._

The light’s on, so he’s got a great view of Bobbi standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him. Double shit.

“Get out,” he says as he marches purposefully into the room. It’s bad enough she’s here, bad enough she scared him, bad enough he let his guard down enough that she _could_ \- he’s not about to let her see him limp too. His ankle has other ideas though and he lands hard on his hip on the bed. The twist he has to do in midair to accomplish that affords him a great view of Bobbi closing the door. While she’s still in the room. Of course.

“You need a medic?” she asks, her eyes traveling carefully over him.

He kicks off his shoes, ignoring the spike of pain as his ankle twinges, and pushes himself back to sit against the headboard. “Even if I did-” He opens the first of the beers- “I would rather die a slow, agonizing death than take your help.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are such a drama queen.” He’s got something to say to that. Something good too. Only he forgets it when she takes off her coat and his brain suddenly loses its ability to think of anything other than her very naked body.

He probably should have realized there was something up since it’s the middle of July and she was wearing an overcoat. 

“I came to apologize,” she says as she calmly sets the coat over the back of the room’s only chair. She’s not making a production out of this, probably she knows she doesn’t have to. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder in their case and he is well aware that half the demonic hell beast stories he told the others were reminders to himself that he needed to stay far, far away.

He gulps audibly. “I’m,” he says slowly, his eyes still firmly fixed on the curls of hair between her legs, “gonna need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.”

She shrugs carelessly. “Didn’t bring any. Didn’t really plan on saying much either, though…” She saunters towards him.

He drags his eyes up to her face and reminds himself rather sternly of all the shit she’s pulled over the last few months. His expression stops her in her tracks. “Then you can get the hell out.”

“Lance-”

“No.” He climbs to his feet, keenly aware that putting them on equal footing is even more precarious than sitting in the bed, but he wants to look her in the eye when he has this out with her, clothes or no clothes. “If you’d really come here to apologize, you’d apologize, not whore yourself out for my good opinion.”

Her face goes red. “I am not-”

“Yeah, you are,” he cuts in coldly. “You’re playing me, just like you play a mark when you wear a tight, little skirt and give ‘im those big, innocent eyes. So since it’s obviously slipped your notice lately, I’m not a  _mark_ , Bob, I’m your  _husband_.”

She lets the word hover in the air a moment before saying, “Were. You  _were_  my husband. And  _you_  chose to end it.”

“Do not,” he says, warning clear in his tone. “Don’t you dare bring it back around to that. This is about what you did. You don’t get to deflect with that old, tired line. You lied to me - and, God help me, I was okay with that bit. I knew what I was getting into and it was worth it from where I stood. But you endangered our friends. Good people nearly died because of what you pulled. So whatever this-” He gestures to her naked body, which has gotten a hell of a lot closer to him, how did he miss that- “is, it had better start with a real apology to them.”

Her brow is furrowed in that way it is when she’s come up against a problem she can’t wrap her head around. It used to make him proud he could do that to her. Still does.

“You’re really in it with SHIELD, aren’t you?” she asks, something like awe in her tone.

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

She nods, a bittersweet sort of smile on her face as she turns away. And hell, he’s only human. He grabs her wrist and pulls her back to him. His ankle complains when she falls against his chest, but the kiss makes it worth it. The sad truth is, he’s never gonna get enough of her. He’s known that from the first time he met her. 

Still, when they break apart moments later so his shirt can come off, he makes a point of saying, “You’re not forgiven.” Just so they’re clear.

“Yet,” she says.

 _Yet_ , he agrees silently. Because he will. Not tonight, but eventually. Secretly he thinks there’s nothing she could ever do that would permanently harden his heart towards her.

So he’ll let himself have tonight because he’s tired of being miserable all the time and in the morning he’ll go back to punishing them both. But soon enough they’ll be right back where they always end up. Together.


	9. "kiss me already"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "kiss me already" from an anon

Lance has always known (thanks to numerous lectures from his dear old mum) that his smart mouth would get him in trouble one day, but never in all his years did he expect it would get him in trouble quite like this.

He’s been  _cursed_. Like some poor schmuck in a fairy tale. Only it wasn’t some wrinkly old crone who did this to him, oh no, it was an _alien_. Loki, to be exact. (And isn’t he supposed to be dead?)

“He’s actually kind of cute,” Simmons says, which definitely helps his mood because being turned into a bloody frog does not help anyone’s self-esteem. Of course she ruins it the next second with, “Do you think he’d mind if I took a tissue sample?”

He ribbits (oh, this is just the worst. He is  _quitting_  SHIELD the second they get him changed back) and hops towards the end of the lab table. Firm hands grab him out of the air. May.

“No, Simmons,” she says gently as she sets him down again.

“Do you think he understood? Maybe he was just frightened by the sound of my voice-”

Lance lets out another croak, this one louder and more angry than the first.

“He understands you,” Fitz says. Lance always liked the kid.

“Assuming he does,” Simmons says, “I really can’t do much for him if he won’t even let me examine him. Not that I’d even know where to begin…” She tilts her head this way and that. One of the greatest scientific minds on the planet has no clue how to help him out of this mess. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Do your people not know the legends?” Sif asks. Nice of her to finally chime in, Lance thinks. “The only way to cure a curse of this nature is with-”

“A kiss from a princess?” Skye asks. Lance kind of hates her right now. (Also where are they gonna find a princess?)

“Well, yes,” Sif says, “but since those are often hard to come by in this day and age, his true love will do well enough.”

Silence settles over the lab.

“That’s  _easier_  to find?” Skye asks.

“Do ex-wives count?” Simmons asks.

Lance is  _doomed_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s definitely something wrong. First Simmons texted Bobbi with a 911 in the lab but before she even had time to read that, there was a second text saying it was a false alarm. Actually no, it said that it was a false alarm and that Bobbi should not feel the need to come out of her room under any circumstances. Which is suspicious enough but now there’s a weird chirping noise coming from the hall. If Bobbi didn’t know any better she’d think it was…

She throws open the door and finds … absolutely no one. The hall is deserted.

The chirp sounds again - louder and less high-pitched now - and Bobbi looks down to find a frog hopping at her feet.

“Well hello there, little guy,” she says gently. She kneels down, careful not to startle the thing off. She could’ve saved herself the worry; the frog jumps straight at her and she barely manages to catch it out of the air before it can hit her. “It’s okay,” she says as she cups it firmly but gently between her hands. “Are you one of Simmons’ new test subjects?”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the frog actually understood her wtih the way it tries to jump away. She laughs, as much at her own imagination as she does at the frog.

“All right. Steady there. Let’s get you back upstairs.”

That uneasy feeling is still prickling at the back of her brain - no way Simmons was just freaked over one little lost frog, not unless it’s dangerous. Bobbi examines it again, looking closer. Frogs aren’t really her thing - the last time she touched one was probably way back in eighth grade bio - but it looks healthy enough, especially if it made it all the way down from the labs on its own. It struggles in her grip, croaking loudly, and even flicks its tongue out at her.

She shrugs, if there  _is_  something wrong with the frog, she’s already been exposed so there’s no point in wasting time wondering over it. She shifts the frog to one hand and keeps the other on her gun. The frog quiets considerably as they get closer to the upper levels, which is as much indication as Bobbi needs that something’s wrong, but its struggling only gets worse.

“Listen, you little slimeball,” she says, lifting it to her face, “if I have to hold you any tighter, I will  _crush_ you, and neither of us wants that.  _Believe_  me.”

The frog, amazingly, stops.

“O-kay,” she says slowly. This is getting really weird. So weird that she lets her grip relax like she thinks the frog has finally decided to play nice. It lunges at her and lands on her chest when she reels back. Its tiny frog hands cling to her skin as it slips into her cleavage. She should probably be a little more grossed out, but the frog seems oddly satisfied with its new perch. “Oh yeah, you’re totally a boy frog.”

It ribbits and she could swear it was making some snarky comment about that much being obvious. 

She keeps going up and, in the back of her brain, wonders if maybe this is one of those hallucinogenic frogs. Maybe she’s been poisoned. Maybe she’s suffering from paranoia. 

No, that’s not possible. She was worried _before_ the frog showed up at her door.

“You didn’t poison me, did you?” she asks. The frog blinks innocently up at her. “Right. Just what I thought your answer’d be. And I’m talking to a frog…”

She sidles up to a corner. She’s close to the labs now and still hasn’t seen or heard any of the others. Not a good sign. Gun at the ready, she takes a look down the next hallway. It’s as empty as this one. In her cleavage, the frog starts squirming.

“What are you-”

The frog manages to get a grip on her and heaves itself up, right at her face. A high-pitched whine like an engine sounds and the frog hits her square on the lips. She goes down, crushed by a heavy weight and falling bits of mortar.

“ _What!_ ” she demands, utterly confused by the energy blast that took out the wall she was just standing next to and the full-grown man lying on top of her. There’s yelling - from the sounds of it there’s an intruder in the base - but it’s growing distant.

“I can explain,” Hunter says, giving her a cheeky grin.

“I hope so, because how you ended up naked during an invasion has gotta be one of your best.”

“So, Loki’s here.”

She lets her head fall back against the hard floor and groans. She’s never met the guy, but she’s heard enough stories. 

“He turned me into a frog.”

“And you kissed me,” she surmises, and starts pushing him off. If Loki’s here, they’re both definitely needed.

“After  _ages_ ,” he whines as they stand up.“Seriously, I was beginning to think the others’d find a _princess_ by the time you came around to kissing me already!”

“Well, I’m sorry my first thought when I find a strangely clingy frog on my doorstep isn’t ‘oh, maybe my ex-husband’s smart mouth has gotten him cursed by a vengeful alien.’”

“I enjoyed the ride though,” he says shamelessly as he hops around (Bobbi’s not sure he’s realized quite what he’s doing), trying to avoid the debris. All at once he freezes. “How did you know I’d mouthed off to him?”

She gives him a hard look. “Seriously? It’s you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now let’s get you some pants before we do anything else. I’d rather not traumatize the others.”

He sets his feet and puts his fists on his hips. “Hey! I am proud of what God gave me!”

She arches a brow. “Proud enough you want an alien to use it for target practice?”

“Right. Not that proud.” He heads - as quickly as he’s able - for the lab and the spare clothing kept there in case anyone gets spilled on or catches on fire. She follows behind, enjoying the view.


	10. "I'm sorry that I accidentally kissed you" (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "fake!married for a mission" from an anon
> 
> Takes place in the same universe as chapter 5 of this collection.

“You know,” Bobbi says, “I never really believed Weaver’s whole ‘Coulson is an emissary for an alien race’ theory - not even when he was running off on his own to hunt down a serial killer’s next victim.”

“Save,” Lance corrects. “To  _save_  a serial killer’s next victim.”

She, predictably, ignores him. “But I’m beginning to think he might  _actually_  be evil. I know I betrayed his trust but as far as punishments go, this is just inhumane.”

“Hey, I’m here too!” Lance points out, leveling the spatula at her accusingly. “And, if you’ll recall,  _I_  was the one who stood by the old fart and helped him retake SHIELD.”

He flips the last of the burgers from the grill onto the plate she’s holding. It’s already piled high with patties and hot dogs and corn on the cob. Bobbi doesn’t flinch at the smoking hot food flying inches from her face or at the added weight. She levels him with a truly terrifying stare that only gets worse as one of their party guests, noticing that the grill is empty, yells across the yard, asking what’s the hold up.

“I’m in a dress,” Bobbi says with all the gravity one might announce there’s been a mass murder. She spins away from him, pasting on her happy suburban housewife grin as she goes.

“Yes,” Lance says, admiring the way the skirt flares up when she turns, giving him a peek at her thighs. “You are.” He knows she’s heard him by the way her heel twists on the gravel walkway, sending a slight spray of stones his way. And, of course, by the way her hips start to swish. He does love it when they do that.

He hurriedly packs up the barbeque gear. This party is an important chance for them to scope out the neighbors at closer range and figure out which of them is most likely to be a cold-blooded killer. It’s also the perfect opportunity for him to figure out just where the two of them stand after that whole “real SHIELD” fiasco - not that Bobbi knows that. She’ll probably stab him with the carving fork when she finds out that he  _asked_  for this assignment (and, thinking of that, he hides it at the bottom of his grilling tools), but it’ll be worth it if he can get his head sorted about the whole mess.

Bobbi’s in the middle of telling their guests about their first meeting when he comes up behind her, only this version has a marked lack of gunfire. He takes her drink from a hand that’s busy gesturing to show how uncoordinated he was, and sips at it, earning himself a fond frown that doesn’t slow down her story at all. He wraps his free hand around her back, just over the curve of her arse, and pulls her hip against his. She comes without a fight, which probably has more to do with their guests than him, but after the last few months, it’s that he does it at all that’s important.

It’s not like this was the first time she ever betrayed him, but it  _is_  the first time he ever stuck around after finding out. Apparently he’s grown as a person. Terrifying as that thought is, he’s gotta find out if he’s grown out of loving her yet.

She finishes her story (with blatant lies) and jauntily snatches her drink back. Her lips curve up around the straw, almost daring him to outdo her story. He doesn’t, only smiles back, letting the neighbors think they’re so sickeningly in love that they can stare into each other’s eyes all day like a couple of hormonal teenagers.

Lance isn’t sure they’d be wrong. And he’s not sure he wants them to be.


	11. soulmates AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a prompt for Bobbi and Lance's first meeting _and_ a prompt for a soulmates AU and they kind of collided in my head.

“No,” Lance says, and the room goes dead silent. Not a surprise, really. He’s just told a mob boss that he’s not gonna do the hit for him. Mob bosses, in Lance’s experience, do not take rejection well. That’s part of why this particular one has not one, not two, but  _three_  hookers hanging off him. Hookers don’t reject you if the money’s good.

The man in question, one Anton Dimitri, leans forward in his throne of a chair. The blonde draped over his lap clings to his shoulders for dear life but Dimitri doesn’t seem to notice, all his attention focused instead on Lance. “What’d you say to me?”

It takes all of Lance’s self-control (not that he has much to speak of) to keep from rolling his eyes at the man’s accent. It’s as fake as the name, and oh so mob boss stereotypical that the guy might as well have just walked out of a B-movie.

“I said, 'no,'” Lance says, somehow managing to keep his tone just shy of disrespectful. “I understand this is a great opportunity, but I have to decline. See, I don’t kill people for no good reason.”

“I want him dead. That’s not a good enough reason for you?”

“While I’m sure you have your reasons, I just can’t see how a near-sighted father of two could be getting in the way of a man as …” crude, massive, nauseating, “powerful as yourself.”

“Maybe he’s not. Maybe I just don’t like the look of ‘im. Kinda like how I’m not liking the look of you right now. You all know how I feel about disloyalty.”

All right, this has taken a definite turn. Men around the edges of the dim room are reaching for their guns. Lance holds up his hands, placating. “Dimitri, I understand where you’re coming from here, I do, but you gotta remember that I’m not one of your men. I’m just a guy off the street. I go where the wind takes me. This isn’t disloyalty. This is simple business. I have worked very hard to cultivate a certain reputation and if I kill this guy for you, next week I’ll be killing a little old lady in Chicago because her dog pissed on some guy’s wife’s roses. And how is that gonna make me feel?”

“Well you won’t be dead,” Dimitri says as he stands. The girl in his lap stumbles away and Lance, being the biggest idiot on the planet, steps forward to catch her. The tension in the room seems to double as an electronic beeping sounds. Two sets of beeps actually, and they come with flashing numbers on Lance’s wrist and the wrist of the hooker he just caught. The  _hooker_. Who is his  _soulmate_. And who he is meeting for the first time in front of the guy she most recently slept with, who already wanted to kill Lance.

Oh, this is going  _well_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, meeting your soulmate in the middle of a life or death scenario isn’t so bad. Oh sure, it’s terrifying and he will _not_ be recommending it to his friends, but it gives him a good idea of just what she’s like. Aside from being a hooker. Which is definitely a problem, but he figures he’s no prize either, so they’ll both have things to complain about if they live.

“Get down!” she barks as she tugs him into the shadow of the dumpster they’re currently cowering behind. 

She’s actually really good at all this stuff. She’s got great peripheral sense and she handles that gun like she was born to. Lord, and the way she knifed that guy back in the basement. He might be in love.

“You got a safe house or somethin’?” She also has the strangest ability to sound like she’s chomping on gum even though he definitely saw her spit her piece into a guy’s eye earlier.

“Yeah,” he says, checking his ammo. “It’s not far.”

“How not far?”

He’d really rather not say, what with Dimitri’s men sneaking up on them at this very minute, so instead he jumps up and fires wildly in what he hopes is the right general direction. He barely hears the answering curse - probably from a ricochet, but he’ll take what he can get - because he’s dragging his soulmate down the alley.

The next street is busy enough that he tucks his gun into his pants. Then he realizes that his soulmate, while wildly attractive in the whole lot of nothing she’s currently wearing, has nowhere to hide her stolen pistol. He cups her shoulder to guide her gently into the shadow of a nearby building, and wouldn’t you know? Blue and red lights flash.

“Son of a bitch,” she curses under her breath. He hastily takes the gun out of her hands and slips it into his coat.

“Let me do the talking,” Lance says. He turns with a bright smile. “Officer! How can we help you?”

“Sir. Ma’am.” The portly officer is all sardonic smiles. “Would you mind telling me just what you think you’re-”

There’s a blur at the edge of Lance’s vision and the next thing he knows his soulmate is standing over the unconscious body of an officer of the law. She huffs, sounding more annoyed than winded. “Let’s go.”

Lance is not about to argue with that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They make the safe house, a little one room apartment he rents for double what it’s worth to keep the landlady quiet. It’s got a bed right next to the only kitchen cabinet (or closet, depending on what you need more) and a toilet next to the kitchen sink, but it’s safe.

“Cozy,” his soulmate mutters. Instead of being insulted, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know her name.

“I’m Lance,” he says, holding out his hand. 

She considers it and him for much longer than is polite before taking it and saying, “Bobbi.” Her real name then. He half expected her to give him whatever frilly pseudonym she uses with her clients. He thinks it might’ve been something like Bunny or Cherry, but he wasn’t much paying attention to Dimitri’s girls before the timer on his arm started blinking.

He probably imagines it, but he thinks there’s something more than the usual warmth where their hands touch. “You want anything?” he asks, forcing himself to let go of her. He’s found that he likes touching her. In the basement when he caught her, behind the dumpster, when that cop showed up. Every time it was almost electric. Which he knows sounds cheesy, but if he’s ever allowed to be, it’s when he’s just met his soulmate. “I don’t have much. Actually I’m not sure I have anything at all, but we might get lucky.”

There’s a heavy silence as he checks the cupboard and the fridge. He takes his time looking, figuring she might need a minute.

“You’re not mad?” That bubblegum affectation of hers is gone, leaving her sounding stronger, more sure of herself. “That I’m a whore?”

Honesty, he figures, is the best policy in this situation. He leans back against the edge of the sink. “I’m not happy about it, I’ll say that much, but then I always figured whoever I got -  _you_  - wouldn’t be too happy about my line of work. That’s what soulmates are about though, isn’t it? Leaving behind who you were, figuring out who you are together?” He expects her to laugh at his sentimentality. She doesn’t. “Anyway,” he goes on, hoping to break the tension that’s sprung up, “you handled all that well enough, I figure that means you stand at least a fifty-fifty chance of surviving me mum.” 

That gets a smile out of her. God, she’s pretty - would have to be to catch Dimitri’s interest -  _and_  she can hold her own in a fight. He sure lucked out.

“We should probably talk,” she says.

And that sounds even less fun than the fleeing for their lives. “Plenty of time for that on the boat.” He slips past her to get to the far wall. 

“Boat?”

He taps lightly against the plaster, moving up and down at just about chest height. “Yeah. Tomorrow we’re gonna meet an old friend of mine down at the docks. She’ll give us a ride - and a handy bit of cash in exchange for the hard drive with all Dimitri’s financial info on it.” He throws her a proud grin when he finds the spot. “That’s why he wanted that average Joe dead, wasn’t it?” She nods, looking a little dumbstruck. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll make sure Dimitri knows it was me before he can get any of his men around to killing the poor guy.” He puts his elbow through the weak spot in the wall and checks that the hard drive is still intact, flashing it at Bobbi over his shoulder so she knows he’s not insane, before putting it back so he can grab it fast in the morning. “Once that’s done, we’ll go wherever we want. That is … if you want to.”

He wasn’t exactly planning on finding his soulmate during all this. He probably should’ve been, with his timer counting down and all, but life goes on, yeah? Now that he’s found her though, he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He’s not sure he  _can_. Just the distant thought that she might not want to come with him has his stomach in knots. It’s not only because Dimitri will kill her to get to him after tonight. Lance has this crazy feeling that if she were to walk away right now, it’d be like losing a limb. He hasn’t even known her an hour, doesn’t even know her last name, but they don’t call them soulmates for nothing.

“There’s nothing holding me here,” she says a little too brightly. Maybe she’s got family or maybe there’s someone else. Her pimp was probably hoping that with her timer coming up, he’d be able to drain Lance dry. Sucks to be him.

Whatever it is, they’ve got time to hash it out later. Right now, Lance wants to sleep before tomorrow. He lays down on the bed, shoes still on, and shifts as far over to the edge as he can.

“Sorry, there’s only the one-”

“I don’t mind,” she says quickly and climbs in. When he tries to give her the only pillow, she pushes it under his head and takes his arm.

“I like your hair,” he says, twisting a pale curl around his fingers. She might blush, but he can’t be sure.

“I like your accent.”

He puffs out his chest. “Most women do.” She smacks him in the ribs.

He thinks it’s a good beginning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Bobbi’s gone, along with the hard drive. He spends a solid day dodging gunfire as he tries to find where Dimitri’s keeping her to draw him out. Only it turns out he’s not and Lance nearly gets killed for nothing.

It doesn’t take long to find out who she really is - a  _SHIELD_  agent; God, he would’ve preferred the whore - and he’s drowning his sorrows in some hole in the wall bar when she walks in. Try as he might to hold onto his anger, he knows she only could’ve found him here if she was keeping tabs on him ever since that night. Plus, he’s really drunk and she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He never stood a chance.


	12. the kennel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many dogs at once…" from an anon.
> 
> Also, this was written before the whole "Coulson's been rebuilding a helicarrier" revelation.

Bobbi’s been locked in this crate for four hours. She’s not cramped, but the fact that there’s food (and a suspiciously empty bottle with a very wide brim) do not strike her as positives. Surprise, surprise, Hunter is standing there when the door in the side finally opens.

“What the hell is this?” she asks. The guards hovering around tense when she marches out, but Hunter waves them off. “When we took the Playground, we didn’t lock anyone up. Is this the sort of SHIELD Coulson’s trying to build?”

Hunter, being Hunter, just goes right on smiling at her like she’s said something adorable. She swears she’s going to kill him one of these days.

“Coulson sends his apologies for the rough ride, but this base is kind of a huge secret.”

Bobbi’s breath catches in her throat and she takes a  _real_  look around. He’s right. This is definitely not the Playground. When she asks, “This is the second base?” her voice is soft with awe. The secrets they’ve been searching for months, and they’re all right here.

“Yuh-ep!” Hunter turns on his heel and Bobbi follows. The guards do not.

“They think you can handle me?” she asks as they near a door. “So those are five guys you  _haven’t_ told your she-devil ex-wife stories to yet?” 

Most of the transports she can see are land-based - trucks and vans and even a few trailers - so she figures they’re probably  _on_  land. The roof isn’t as high as the ones in the Playground’s hangar, which is meant to hold a whole 747 if need be. There’s also a smell hovering in the air. She knows what it is, she just can’t put her finger on it. It’s dry and earthy, makes her think of food but definitely isn’t that.

“Worried your reputation’s taken a hit?” he asks, holding the door open for her. She does  _not_  go through it. Hunter just shrugs and goes on ahead. She follows and realizes why he wasn’t worried she might run off. They’re in a hallway with absolutely nothing inside except a door at the other end.

“Big on security, are you?” she mutters.

“You could say that,” he chuckles. “And, for the record, your reputation’s fine. They were just there to make sure you didn’t attack me. Now that we know you’re not going to, they can slack off.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and gives the back of his head her most incredulous glare. “You think I won’t attack you just because I haven’t done it yet?” 

The door hisses open and she realizes her mistake. She’s completely missed seeing him key in the pass code. Gonzales is gonna have her head.

“Under normal circumstances? Never. But these are not those. There is just no way you’re gonna want to kill me once we’re in there.”

She laughs dangerously as she follows him. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

If she thought the hangar was small, it’s been made up for. She joins Hunter on a catwalk more than twenty feet over the floor. It rims the whole room - which has to be at least a football field long - with several crossings along the way. There are agents scattered along it, all of them focused downward at the floor and what have to be _hundreds_ of dogs running around.

“I’ve don’t think I’ve ever seen so many dogs at once,” she says. She’s not sure there’s anything else she  _can_  say. There are dog piles, tugs of war, senseless games of “get that ball!” Hell, there are even giant fountains along one wall and the dogs are jumping in them.

“You remember,” Hunter says, “how you guys found those orders for a ton of beds and supplies?” He gestures down. “Yeah, some of it was for the agents - trainers - stationed here, but mostly it was for these fuzzballs.”

“ _Dogs_. He’s building a base for-” She grabs Hunter’s arm in a death grip. “He’s building a new Kennel!”

The Kennel was kind of the animal version of the Academy, where SHIELD’s non-human agents were bred, trained, and enjoyed downtime. And it wasn’t just dogs either, though that was most of the population. (Clint still swears Fury once tried to team him up with an actual hawk.) Bobbi’s never been, but she’s heard it was in was in one of those boxy middle states, somewhere with lots of room for the animals to run around. 

“Yep,” Hunter says. “I guess a lot of the trainers tried to keep their animals with them when they went on the run. A lot didn’t make it. Coulson’s been tracking them down and picking up a few extras. May says he’s got this problem where he can’t see an adorable face and leave it alone. I guess he’s shut down more than a dozen puppy mills in the last year? Can’t argue with that.”

She pulls her eyes away from the chaos below to focus on Hunter. “Why all the secrecy though? They’re just dogs!”

He frowns at her and she has the oddest feeling that she should be ashamed. But they  _are_  just dogs and Coulson nearly lost his entire organization over them.

Hunter sighs and leans over the railing, not really looking at the animals running around below. He whistles, a sharp series of three, and a greyhound comes bounding across the floor to sit perfectly at attention below them. “There’s a good boy,” Hunter says proudly and pulls a treat from his pocket to drop to the dog. That explains what she was smelling earlier. “Coulson’s giving me a partner,” he explains.

“Just your type.”

He smiles at the insult. “I thought the same thing as you, when Coulson told me. I was bloody angry. But then he said the same thing you did: they’re  _just dogs_. They don’t know what’s going on. People at least can try to understand why they’ve been betrayed by their friends. Can you imagine what it was like for these guys, suddenly having the humans they’d trusted turn on not just each other but them too?” He takes a deep breath and laces his fingers. “This place is need to know because SHIELD isn’t stable yet. The rest of us can up and run when our homes get invaded, these guys can’t.”

It’s impossible to miss the dig in there, but she ignores it in favor of the bigger point. He’s right. Anyone who’s ever worked with any of SHIELD’s animal agents would say they’ve earned the title just as much as their human counterparts. They were no less betrayed than the rest of them were, maybe even more so. Some of Bobbi’s oldest friends turned out to be her enemies - men and women she’d trusted with her life during countless missions - but that’s a far cry from trusting someone to just feed you, take care of you, love you even.

“So why bring me here?” she asks. “Why let me in on the secret?”

“Coulson wants your lot to back off.” He shrugs. “Showing you what’s what seemed like a good way to accomplish that.”

“But you’re not telling me where we are?”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell.”

That’s fair enough, she figures. Now that she knows, she doesn’t exactly want Calderon storming this place.

She leans against the railing beside Hunter. The dog is still staring up at him, waiting for orders. “Does it have a name?”

“If I say her name’s Barbara, will you make me pay for it?”

She shoves his shoulder with hers. “Nice try. You said it was a boy.”

“Damn,” he says, not at all disappointed. “It’s King.” The dog’s ears tick forward.

“And you’re really gonna take that thing into the field with you?”

He fishes another treat from his pocket and tosses it far. King takes off after it, slipping easily through the mess of dogs playing and running. “Not all the time. And not yet, he’s one of Coulson’s strays so he still needs a lot of training.” 

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He really seems happy, even standing next to her after all that’s happened. He could’ve told Coulson to send someone else, but he didn’t. Maybe he’s becoming a good little soldier, maybe it was the chance to see King, or maybe she really does have something to hope for.

“Sounds familiar,” she says, and leans a little closer.


	13. post-Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I thought you were dead"

The woman in question isn’t anyone important, but she’s  _connected to_  important people. And once he has her phone, Lance’ll be able to connect to them too - or his employer for this particular job will, anyway. The woman’s not even making it difficult for him. She’s all lingering touches and big, doe eyes as she muses on the destruction in New York.

It’s all anyone’s talking about, and it’s exactly why Lance wants to steal the phone and get out of here so he can go to his shitty apartment and get blind drunk. He  _should_  be pulling her close when she says how terrifying the aliens looked and how frightened she’s been that there might be another attack. But instead it’s taking all he has not to cringe.

He mentally braces himself to make a real effort here - the sooner he gets a grip, the sooner it’ll be done - and is just leaning in to whisper something comforting in her ear when Celine Dion blares out from his back pocket. The mission disappears from his mind so completely he actually slips into his real accent when he answers.

His “hello?” sounds half-frantic but he doesn’t have time to berate himself for it before it’s answered by a very small sounding, “Hunter?”

There are a million things he wants to say. All the stupid, idiotic things normal people want to say after near-death experiences.  _I love you. I’m sorry. Please come home._  And then a few less normal things, the sorts of idiotic things only he would want to say.  _What took you so long? I thought you were dead!_ But he doesn’t say any of that, mostly because reality is reasserting itself. He’s on a mission. He just blew his own cover. It’s less than forty-eight hours since an alien attack on the Earth. His ex-wife is calling and she doesn’t sound anything like the angry, powerful woman he loves so much.

He considers, for a brief second, slipping back into his American accent and hoping the mark doesn’t notice, but he’s not gonna do that to Bobbi. He won’t be someone else with her, not when she’s already sounding shaken up. Besides, the way he grabbed for the phone, he’s pretty sure the woman’s done with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. One of his hands is wrapped tight around the edge of the bar, like he thought he needed the support to keep from falling off his stool. Maybe he did.

Bobbi takes an audible breath and, when she answers, sounds more like herself. “It’s Clint. He’s … he’s alive, but …”

Lance’s heart twists. He’s never been a fan of Barton’s - and the feeling is absolutely mutual - but he and Bobbi are old friends and he knows how much the guy means to her.

“Loki, the guy who did all this, he used some sort of mind control on him. Clint’s back and he helped stop the guy-”

“Yeah, I heard.” It took him about ten minutes to believe that the Hawkeye the news was talking about was the same guy who spent Lance’s entire wedding reception shooting toothpicks at him. The guy’s a bona fide superhero now. Lance is never gonna get used to that.

“But he’s still having some trouble. Nat’s with him. She brought him back. But he’s …”

Lance unwraps his fingers from the edge of the bar. The woman has disappeared, along with her phone, and Lance is sure to get in some trouble with his current employer for this, but he’s always been kind of hopeless when it comes to Bobbi. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” she answers a little too quickly. “Nothing. I just- I don’t know why I’m calling. I guess I just needed to talk to someone who isn’t so close to it all.”

“What makes you so sure I wasn’t in New York when it happened? I could be there now.” It’s meant to be a joke, because they both know that if there was an alien invasion of any city Lance was in, followed by SHIELD descending en masse, he would have given them so much crap Fury would’ve called her back from a mission to kill bin Laden just to restrain him. Only there’s no laughter on the other end of the line, only a heavy silence. He wants to ask if she’s keeping tabs on him or if she just looked him up with SHIELD after what happened. He’s not sure if it makes a difference either way. “What about Mack?” he asks instead.

“He’s halfway around the world.”

“So am I.”

There’s a shuffling sound, like hair moving over the microphone. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re busy seducing a mark or something and I’m just being stupid.” She pauses briefly and he can almost see her psyching herself up to say, “I’m glad you’re all right.” She hangs up before he can answer.

He stares at the phone for a long time, watching her name fade as the screen goes dark.

“Bad news?” It’s the woman. She’s back, along with a sympathetic smile and two beers.

Lance pastes on a grin. “No, good. Old friend in New York is gonna pull through.” 

She slips easily onto her old seat, eager for the second-hand account of whatever happened. Lance makes it up as he goes, more ready than ever to finish this thing. The airports are jammed with people trying to get home after what happened, but if he finishes this job, he’ll have enough to buy off a private plane to drop him close to New York.


	14. post-season 2 finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt here, I just wanted to have some fluffy huntingbird after season 2 wrapped up. There are a couple Age of Ultron spoilers, so be aware.

Lance is trying here. He really, really is, but they’re only five days in and already he’s pretty sure this has been a huge mistake.

“I can’t take it,” he says.

Bobbi frowns at him from the chaise lounge next to his. “What, exactly?” she asks, sounding more amused than anything. “The tropical beach? The sunset? Notice how I didn’t ask about the two women sunbathing at ten o’clock because, if that’s your problem, I just might have to borrow Natasha’s title.”

By way of answer, he lets his gaze drop slowly down Bob’s body. She’s wearing nothing but a blue bikini, leaving oh so many of his favorite parts uncovered. When he finally comes back up to her face, she’s got that expression he loves, her if  _I were a normal human being I’d be blushing, but I’m an agent of SHIELD so instead I’m looking at you like I want to kill you_  expression. Actually, this variation doesn’t so much say “kill” as it does “eat.” Which is kind of the problem to begin with.

“This,” he says heavily. “I can’t take this.”

Bobbi sits on that for about three seconds before asking, “Are you breaking up with me five days into our second honeymoon?”

“No.” He thinks he might sound a little petulant and the crossed arms are probably not helping, but he feels like he’s being cheated here - like they’re  _both_  being cheated here - and has earned the right to be annoyed. “We’re five days into our second honeymoon,” he says slowly, “and all I can think about is that in a few minutes it’s gonna be too cold to stay out here and I’ll have to carry you back up to the hotel-”

“I can walk,” she says, just like she’s said it every single time they’ve gone anywhere for the last five days. Like hell is he letting her walk anywhere. Not just because he’s under strict orders from Simmons (and that girl is  _scary_ ), but because the sooner she starts walking, the sooner Bobbi’s gonna start getting into trouble.

“I’m gonna have you in my arms, practically naked, and I’m not gonna be able to  _do_  anything about it. We’re five days into our second honeymoon and we can’t have sex! This is probably the worst honeymoon in history.”

She levels him with a hard stare, and he knows before she says it exactly what’s gonna come out of her mouth. “You think this - with the beach and the view and the five star hotel so exclusive there is actual  _royalty_  staying here - is worse than our first honeymoon? You remember, the one with the  _nuclear bomb threat_.”

The sunbathers are packing up their gear and heading in. Lance waits until they’re gone to say, “Yeah, but there was sex.”

Bobbi makes a sound that he knows all to well from their literally hundreds of fights over the years. It’s her  _I can’t believe I married this man_  noise. “You know I can’t drink, right?” she asks. “We’re here for two weeks and I can’t drink a damn thing because I might bleed internally. Which would be fine, if only I was willing to take the good drugs, which I’m not because… Lance?”

Her hand brushes his arm. Without opening his eyes - he closed them during her tirade and he  _can’t_ open them yet, he just can’t - he turns his hand over to catch hers.

“I’m afraid,” he says while he trails his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m afraid I’m gonna hurt you or one of your injuries will flare up or our luck will kick in and some terrorist organization will attack the resort.” Last night he dreamt he woke up to sheets soaked in blood, with Ward standing in the corner, just waiting for Lance to see what he’d done to Bobbi. 

She’s quiet for a long time. When she finally speaks up, there’s not understanding in her tone, just a sort of resigned  _yes, I did marry this idiot_. “You know Coulson’s got a team monitoring the island the whole time, right? Any terrorists decide to attack, they’re gonna die before anyone even knows they’re here.”

It’s significantly darker when he opens his eyes. Someone from the hotel is coming around, lighting torches for anyone who wants to stay out into the night, but he’s still far off. Lance can see the firelight reflected in Bobbi’s eyes. It’s getting cold, he should get her inside.

He levers himself out of the lounger and lifts her up in his arms. Her skin is still warm from the sun.

“So are you gonna tell all the girls back at base how I’m a typical guy, only interested in sex?”

She scoffs. “Are you kidding? This is our  _honeymoon_. I can’t believe we decided to do this while I was still recovering.” She settles more comfortably against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. “I hope you know that the second Simmons signs off, we are doing that thing we did in Lisbon.”

Lance nearly loses his footing in the sand. “Lisbon?” he croaks.

Her hair scrapes against his shoulder as she nods. “At least twice. Once on the bed, once standing up.”

It takes a few seconds for his brain to wrap around that. Once it does, he tightens his grip on her to practically run the rest of the way to the hotel. She shrieks in surprise, clinging to him.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Oh, we’re going to Avengers Tower to call in every favor Clint Barton owes me so we can use that fancy healing machine they’ve got.”

Bobbi purses her lips. “You know Simmons doesn’t trust-”

He stops to meet her eyes seriously. “Lisbon.”

Now it’s her turn to take a few seconds. When her eyes clear she says, “Fine, but  _you_  have to tell Simmons you overrode her just so you could have sex.”

“I can live with that,” he says as he sets off again. He might not actually, considering Simmons’ threats before they left, but …  _Lisbon_.


	15. "I was in Russia!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You cannot possibly blame that on me! I was in Russia!"

As fun as Lance’s last mission was - Fitz called it “getting the band back together” since it was them, Coulson, and Mike (Ward did not show up and no one was sorry) - he’s glad to be back at the Playground. It may be slightly dark and have that weird smell that just never goes away, but it’s got the bed Lance calls his own and all his friends and, most importantly, his beautiful ex-ex-wife.

“Whelp, I’m heading downstairs for some R and R,” he says. And by R and R, he of course means quality time with the missus. 

Mack stops him with a firm hand on his arm. “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t, man.”

It’s probably the whole kidnapping-near-death-gunshot thing, but Lance has been a little …  _concerned_ about Bobbi the last few months. She’s fine and he knows she’s fine, it’s just that he tends to worry if she’s out of his sight for more than five minutes. (Secretly he thinks Bobbi might have paid Coulson to “get the band back together” for this mission, just to get him out of her hair for a couple days.)

“She’s fine,” Simmons says, seeing his immediate leap to worry. “Only … well, your mission sounded so fun that we decided to have a girls’ night and go out for sushi and dancing.”

“Oh no,” Lance moans. He can already see where this is going.

“She’s been incapacitated since early this morning.”

“Sounds about right,” he says and heads out the door. If Bobbi’s “incapacitated,” she’s gonna want someone to order around and watch nature documentaries with. Lance is  _excellent_  at that.

She’s not in bed when he gets to their quarters, and he approaches the open bathroom door cautiously.

“Hey, Bob,” he says gently.

“ _You_.”

He holds up two DVDs. “I brought the one with the penguins and that bear one that always makes you cry.”

She moans and starts pushing herself up off the floor. He tosses the documentaries over his shoulder, onto the bed, and rushes to help. She lets him, but only until she’s steadily on her feet. “This is your fault,” she says gruffly, twisting out of his grip.

“My fault? How can this possibly be my fault? I was in Russia!”

She more falls than sits on the edge of the bed. “ _Everything_  is your fault, Lance! It’s your fault I’m sick. It’s your fault I haven’t been on a mission in  _three months_  and was so bored I jumped at the chance to go out with Jemma and Skye.”

“Oh no. That part is  _definitely_  not my fault!” Even though they’re in the middle of a fight (always an important part of making Bobbi feel better while she’s sick), he starts putting the penguins movie into the player. “ _Ward_  is the one who kidnapped you and put you out of commission while you recovered.”

“Yes, but it’s your fault that I’m still out of commission.” She’s not yelling so much now, and he’s not surprised to find her curled up half-under the covers when he turns around. 

He pulls the blankets the rest of the way up, and then climbs on top of them, not wanting to disturb her more than necessary if she wants something while they watch. 

She curls into his side. “You and your stupid genetic hatred of sushi,” she mutters.

He lays a hand over her stomach. It’s still flat, no signs yet, but nobody - not even Bobbi, despite her protests - is willing to risk her going into the field.

“She’ll probably love quinoa,” he says to make amends while also praying it’s not true.

“She’d better,” Bobbi sighs. They haven’t even reached the menu screen and she’s already half asleep. It’s gonna be a  _long_  pregnancy.


	16. starter prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very, very bad at the "give me a sentence and I'll give you the next five" prompts - or at least to keeping it to only five sentences. Still these fics are short enough that they're not worth their own chapters.

“You were going to die.”

“You’re being dramatic, Bob.” Hunter looks around the room. “Tell her she’s being dramatic.”

“Your fever was a hundred and two! You were  _outside_ , in the  _snow_ , in a  _blanket_ , telling everyone you were the Christmas King!”

“And for that you had to break my arm? She broke my arm!” He lifts up the sling for good measure, just in case the room’s only other occupant hasn’t seen it yet. (He has.)

“It’s not a  _break_ ,” Bobbi says. “It’s a minor fracture. You’ll be fine in a week or two. Isn’t that right?”

Lincoln shifts uneasily in his seat. “Yeah. I think I’m just gonna go … quit this crazy organization. You two have fun fighting though.”

Bobbi and Hunter watch him go. Once he’s out the door, Hunter holds out his uninjured hand, into which Bobbi reluctantly slaps a fifty dollar bill.

“Damn.”

“I told you the kid’d never make it. Not SHIELD material.”

Bobbi scoffs. As if putting up with their fights is a requirement for agents. (There is, in fact, a quiet room Coulson’s had them thrown into more than once.) “You only wanted him gone because you’re part of Coulson’s conspiracy to keep Skye from dating.”

Hunter stretches out the crisp bill with a snap. “And fifty dollars richer to boot.” Bobbi refuses to meet his eyes. It’s a lame attempt at winning (not that this is a fight; if it were, there’d be more yelling and less clothes by now), but she still knows what works on him. “Fine,” he sighs. “Double or nothing that Simmons can’t convince him to stay.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he opened the door, but it wasn't this.

“Bob?” he said, hating how soft his voice came out. 

He pulled it together quick enough, falling into the familiar pattern of bickering. It was easier, honestly, than the fear he’d been holding onto ever since that Raina woman threatened to blow Jemma’s cover. (If he was truthful, he’d been holding onto the fear for  _weeks_ , ever since he’d seen his own baby sister in his crosshairs.)

He made some crack about Bobbi’s hair, and maybe he hadn’t pulled it together as well as he’d thought because somehow it turned into a compliment on her usual blond. God, he was a mess. And she saw it too, damn her. 

She smiled -  _kindly_  - at him. “She’s  _fine_ ,” she said, with a nod over his shoulder.

He turned, and there was Jem, not a scratch on her. Her hesitant greeting got lost in his chest as he tackled her into a hug.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. Her grip on him was so tight it hurt, not that he was complaining.

“Glad to hear it. But don’t think that means you’re off the hook.”

Her laughter against his chest was the best thing he’d heard in a long time, and he didn’t even care that her tears were staining his suit.

Never letting go of Jemma, Lance turned them so he could see Bobbi over her head. Coulson had assured him no less than a dozen times on the way back to the Playground that he had someone undercover with Jemma, a second, secret mole there to watch her back. It was easy enough to figure out who that had been.

She smiled at him, unashamedly enjoying any family drama of his that didn’t include her. He mouthed a sincere  _thank you_. 

She tipped her head.  _As if I wouldn’t._

He kissed the crown of Jemma’s head. Much as he hated being indebted to Bobbi, he’d gladly lose every argument they ever had or will have, just to have Jemma safe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

[Takes place in the same universe as my [biospec werewolf drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3552227/chapters/8748307), which is not at all required reading to understand this fic and might, in fact, spoil this one since this one happens first.]

 

"I'm just gonna... wait out here."

Bobbi twists around, her feet still poised on the top two steps. Behind her, loud music is pouring out of the house and she can hear drunken cheers. Somewhere in there, Trip is waiting for her to help carry a succubus victim (still alive, thank God) out without making a scene.

“Afraid of the youths, Hunter?” she asks, falling easily into teasing. Grant’s the same way, probably why he’s run off to hunt the succubus down while Trip’s been left alone to deal with clean up.

“Yes. Exactly. You go on ahead, I’ll guard the rear.”

She laughs a little more sharply than she means to. Lance doesn’t exactly  _know_  there’s anything to guard against. He thinks this is a detour to rescue her drunken friend from a bad party. 

(She tried cancelling the date outright, but he kind of jumped in her car before she could speed off. Which, yeah, has earned him some major bonus points because that kind of last minute ditching has ended her last six relationships before they could even get off the ground. Eight dates in with Lance - a personal best - and she’s thinking he might be a keeper.)

To cover up her discomfort - and to get him out of the dark driveway where any number of supernatural monsters could be hiding - she stomps back down the steps to grab his hand.

“Come on. Wuss.” 

She ignores his protests and arguments (he’ll guard the _car_? Seriously?), and drags him to the door. It opens ahead of her as a herd of college students stumble out, laughing all the way down the drive. She can hear the song that’s playing now, not just the bass, and smiles. It’s a catchy tune that they’re playing on the radio every hour lately. In a week she’ll hate it for sure, but right now she’s thinking she’ll put off Trip for a few minutes more and make Lance dance with her.

She stumbles through the door, Lance’s fingers slipping out of hers. She has half a thought that the bright green welcome mat tripped her up, but there’s a clenching in her gut that only comes when something evil’s about to go down.

She twists around, the peppy pop song going dim in her hearing as she sees Lance standing where his hand left hers. His toes are a hair from the threshold and the sorrowful look on his face makes him look years older than he is. Years older than she _thought_ he was, anyway.

“Sorry, love,” he says. “I can’t.”

He’s a _vampire_. Her annoying, adorable, perfectly normal boyfriend (who hates Italian food;  _God_ , she’s an idiot) is a fucking vampire. 

Bobbi’s not sure who, but someone, somewhere is gonna die for this.


	17. crooked love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a fic inspired by Taylor Swift's "I wish you would" (from which the title also comes).

Once the hospital room door is shut, Clint drops the smile and leans heavily against the frame. He’d been up for sixty hours  _before_  Bobbi went into surgery, at this point he’s running on fumes.

“How is she?”

That still doesn’t excuse him completely missing the man leaning against the wall beside the door. Clint leaves his forehead resting against the wood and twists his neck so he can see Hunter. See his blurry outline anyway. Clint is  _tired_.

He should probably punch him. Hunter’s the whole reason Bobbi insisted they go on this psycho mission in the first place. Him and those papers she filed with her lawyer. Clint wonders if Hunter’s gotten wind of that yet.

He heaves himself up into a less pathetic position - difficult, given the beating he took out there - and blinks his eyes a few times so he can get a clear view of the guy he lovingly refers to as “the rat bastard who stole Bobbi’s heart.” (He’s gonna have to amend that to “the rat bastard who broke Bobbi’s heart” soon.)

Hunter’s got his arms crossed and his legs splayed a comfortable distance apart. The way the nurses look at him as they pass makes Clint think he’s been a permanent feature here for a _while_. 

“What are you doing here?” Clint asks.

Hunter’s shoulders hunch forward and his hands clench over his upper arms. His wedding ring catches the light from the florescent bulbs. “I know you lot don’t like me - I know  _she_  doesn’t like me - but I just need to know. How is she?”

Clint shakes his head. “No. What are you doing  _here_?” Hunter frowns at him, confused. “ _Out_  here,” Clint tries. He tips his head towards the door. “You should be in there.”

Much as he hates Hunter - and there is  _so much hate_  there - Bobbi loves the jerk. There’s no one she’d rather see right now than him.

Hunter’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “You must not have heard, mate. Bob’s filed for divorce. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He looks away and suddenly seems lost. “You wouldn’t be out here if she wasn’t doing okay. So I’m just gonna … Give me a call - if anything changes. All right?”

Clint watches him disappear around the corner. He never thought he’d be sorry to see the idiot go.


	18. beeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a first sentence prompt from safelycapricious

All he wanted to do was sleep, but it was hard to do with that damned beeping coming from the other room. He rolled slowly -  _carefully_  - off the cot and padded across the cold floor. It was a good cold. Sharp. Sharp enough to distract a little from the pain in his ribs and back. Damn Russians.

He pushed open the door as soon as he was near enough to reach and it swung around to hit the wall. “ _What_ ,” he demanded as the beeping continued.

Bobbi didn’t even look up. “Busy, dear.”

Bloody hell. Endearments. That couldn’t be good.

He came out of the room, waking up a little more and taking a more thorough look at what she was about in here. He still wasn’t completely awake though, so he was only three feet from the table when his brain tentatively identified what she was working on that was making all the noise.

His feet rooted to the floor and his eyes narrowed in on the bright red numbers. “Bob,” he said carefully, “is that a bomb?”

“Yes, dear.” She sounded even more annoyed than the first time, which was just unfair seeing as he was the one who woke up to a bloody bomb!

“ _Why_  is there a bomb?”

“I will tell you once I’m done diffusing it.”

There were  _so many_  things he wanted to say to that, but he bit his tongue and watched the seconds tick down. Between the time left, his injuries, and the amount of plastic explosive attached to the thing, there was no point trying to run. Which didn’t seem so bad for the first ten seconds, but once the next ten rolled around it got a little worrisome, and by the third ten he was itching to grab the bomb and throw it out the nearest window.

“There!” Bobbi said proudly as the timer went blank. “ _Now_  you can ask as many stupid questions as you want.”

He stared for several long seconds, the pain radiating out from his back growing steadily worse with every one. Finally he said, “And still not my worst first date ever.” Even better when she smiled.

 


	19. quick thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for a first sentence prompt from thestarfishdancer

“If someone asks me that  _one more time_ , I will  _not_  be held responsible for my actions.”

Lance eyes Bobbi warily. Her hair’s messy like it always gets when she’s been running her hands through it all day and she’d be breaking that chair she’s holding onto if it were made of a slightly less sturdy material - or if it weren’t the only thing holding her up thanks to her bloody knee. So maybe she’s got a point being pissed about his asking how she’s feeling today.

“O-kay,” he says cautiously. “I only meant how-” He’s always had a larger-than-life impression of Bob - he was comparing her to a goddess before they even had their first date - so it’s not really a surprise her making him think of Medusa now. Still, it’s plenty disturbing. “-how  _beautiful_ you look today?” he finishes.

That deadly stare only intensifies and he’s sure he’s about to die.

If he’s honest, he always kinda figured it’d happen this way. Odds were it’d be either Bobbi or a woman he managed to piss off, that it’s both is almost too obvious.

She pushes off from the chair and damn it all, her hair falls to hide her eyes so he can’t see if she’s coming at him with that “must kill” look in ‘em. Her knee’s still weak though, so instinct’s got him reaching out to catch her when she limps on it. Her arms wrap up his and around his neck. Her head rests against his shoulder, face turns into his neck. He wonders if maybe she’s thinking of tearing his throat out with her teeth.

“I love you,” she sighs.

Oh.

That’s … okay then.

He kisses her hair awkwardly. “You too, love,” he says and wraps his arms around her to hold her tight.

 


End file.
